


Mal and the MACOs

by wheel_pen



Series: Viridian Mal [47]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fish out of Water, Gen, Imprinting, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trip narrates as Mal is forced to prove himself to the MACOs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mal and the MACOs

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Viridians appear human, but are actually aliens who imprint on other people (Viridian or otherwise) and form a bond with them. They also live their entire life cycle in about six Earth years.
> 
> 2\. In each series, a different character is a Viridian, who was raised by mean Klingons on an outpost. An Enterprise crewmember is captured by the Klingons and they inadvertently form a bond with the Viridian, who helps them escape. Then they return to rescue the Viridian and bring them aboard the Enterprise. The Viridian homeworld is contacted and the Enterprise crew learn the Viridian will most likely die if they are sent away. So they end up staying on the Enterprise, and the crewmember has to adjust.
> 
> 3\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

Don't get me wrong. I like Major Hayes and his MACOs. I know Marcus hates 'em, but that's a territorial thing—this ship's only big enough for one guy who likes to beat on people and blow stuff up, that kind of thing. But I appreciate the MACOs—I see them as having a different purpose than Marcus's guys. Marcus's crew are like the police, see, and the MACOs are like—well, they _are_ the military. Marines in space. So when you need a guard for something on the ship, or you need one person to go on the away mission, I would pick an _Enterprise_ security officer—they know the ship and they know the crew and they know how we operate. But if I wanted some kind of assault force, that's when I would use the MACOs—because they know how to take down groups of people, how to work as a unit, how to make a d—n good show of stormin' a place.

That's what _I_ would do with them. But no one ever bothers to ask me because I'm just an engineer. And whenever I get to be in command, those decisions have usually already been made. But this is what I'm all the time tellin' Marcus when he gets himself worked up about Hayes.

Like this latest thing the Major wants—super-duper combat training sessions for the whole crew, twice a week. Actually I think he wanted them three or four times a week, but thank G-d Jon wasn't feeling so obsessive the day Hayes asked because he knocked it down to two. So now we're all divided into little groups—just eight or ten people each—and we gotta show up at the gym at our assigned times so the MACOs can beat the c—p out of us. I don't really mind too much myself, though I've heard a lot of grumbling from other people. I think I'm pretty decent in the hand-to-hand combat department—thanks to Starfleet basic training and Marcus's own regimen—but if Hayes can teach me a new trick or two, great. I just hope it's a good workout and not just a bunch of standin' around, watching, 'cause I get really bored with that.

Of course Marcus thinks the whole idea is just a big ol' slap in his face—like Hayes is sayin' he didn't train the crew right when he had the chance, so now the Major's gotta come in and shape us up. I guess you could see it that way if you had a mind to, but you could _also_ say the Major was just tryin' to use his expertise to make sure we were all prepared for the mission we're facing. Again, to me it's just different styles—you can't beat Marcus's people for knowin' just about every fighting style ever invented and turnin' everything lying around into a deadly weapon. But the MACOs have group strategy, bigger weapons (which turns Marcus green with envy right there), a different way of thinking about things. _I_ think both groups could learn a lot from each other. But like I said, no one ever bothers to ask _me_.

So my first practice session arrives. I wander into the gym, see who else is in my section, stretch a little to warm up, try not to be intimidated by the MACOs who look like they could heft a torpedo with one arm. Marcus is standing there glaring, so at least I feel right at home. Mal joins me in the stretches, 'cause he enjoys them, then hops off to the side when Hayes gets everyone's attention.

The Major starts giving his standard opening-night pep talk, I guess—Important Mission, Need to Be Prepared, no offense to your current level of training but basically you're all a bunch of candy-a-s babies who need toughening up. Okay, yeah, I guess I can see Marcus's point on that one. Anyway, then Hayes wants to do some kind of demo and starts scanning for a volunteer.

As the senior officer in the room I feel it's my duty to show the rest that it's okay to get your butt kicked in front of everyone, so I start to step forward. But Hayes has already chosen his victim.

"Me?" says Mal with great uncertainty, when Hayes points at him.

"Oh, he's just watching," I say quickly. I probably shouldn't even have brought Mal along, but of course he'd _wanted_ to come. I should've known it would only lead to trouble, one way or another.

"Watching?" Hayes repeats in a tone that says he's not okay with that.

All the _Enterprise_ people know what's up with Mal. Looks like all the MACOs don't. I guess I figured someone would explain Mal to them at some point. Some point before _now_ , that is. I don't want to get into it in front of the whole room, though, because Mal would be completely embarrassed. "He's—special," I try, and I know it's lame.

"I'm special," Mal parrots hopefully.

"Right," says Hayes slowly, and I can tell in exactly what way he thinks Mal is 'special.' I gotta admit to a flash of annoyance, but as long as he leaves Mal alone, I can explain things later.

So Hayes gets his volunteer somewhere else, and life goes on. As expected, I'm gettin' my a-s handed to me by my sparring partner, but so is everyone else, so I don't feel too bad. Marcus is looking madder and madder, though. I guess I thought we were all _supposed_ to be gettin' our a-ses handed to us at this point, but maybe he was hoping there would be some kind of superstar. Maybe when the group actually has some of his security people in it, they'll do better.

At one point I glance over to check on Mal and I see Hayes is talking to him—the Major's got a look in his eye like a terrier determined to root out a rabbit, and Mal, well, he looks like the rabbit. I'd like to go over and join the chat, but my five-second break is up and Corporal Bevins is gettin' mighty anxious to throw me on the ground some more.

"So what was Hayes sayin' to you?" I ask Mal later, as we're limping home. Technically, _I'm_ the only one limping.

"He wanted to know my name, and my rank, and my department," Mal reports. I know he'd like to be helping me along more, but I'm convinced I can make it to our quarters unassisted.

"What'd you tell him?"

"You know I'm not good at explaining it to people," Mal frets. I nod. I know. "Especially when they're looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like they aren't going to leave me alone until they figure me out."

"Well, I'll talk to him tomorrow," I promise Mal. "Assuming I can still walk tomorrow, that is."

"I'll give you a massage before bed," Mal offers happily.

"Thanks." He _does_ give great massages.

"But you have to take a shower first." He _is_ kind of a clean-freak, after all.

 

The next day, when I've got a little time, I go off to see Major Hayes. He's in the gym, as usual, supervising another combat training session. Marcus is in the corner glowering, as usual. I gotta figure, life on _Enterprise_ must be pretty boring for the MACOs, when we aren't in a battle. Which fortunately is more often than not at the moment.

"Hey, Major, you got a minute?"

"Of course, Commander."

I'm not real sure where a Major falls in our chain of command. I think I'm higher up, though, for whatever that's worth. "Just wanted to talk to you about Mal," I tell him. "I figured someone would have explained him to you by now, but I guess they didn't." I'm trying to be casual, affable even; Hayes is staring at me intently, like I'm about to impart the secrets of the universe. "See, Mal's not a member of Starfleet or anything like that. He's not even human. He's a Viridian. Anyway, I kinda picked him up by accident from this outpost with these Klingons, and—" Hayes is far too disciplined to let his eyes glaze over with boredom. But I can tell he's thinking, _Get on with it!_ "—well, anyway, my point is, Mal doesn't do things like the rest of the crew. Mostly he follows me around all day. Oh, he lives with me, too. But we're not, _you know_." Which was probably more than Hayes really wanted to be thinking about. "It's kinda weird." I usually finish with that to make people more comfortable.

Hayes kinda looks me over, then starts his interrogation. "Does he accompany you on away missions?"

"Well, yeah, sometimes—"

"Then he should have some rudimentary combat training," the man persists. "Even if he _weren't_ going into a hostile situation knowingly, he should know how to defend himself and others should the ship be invaded."

"Well, I know," I assure him, because he makes a good point. "The thing is, Mal _does_ know how to do that stuff. He's real good at it, in fact. At least, when it's _me_ who's being threatened. Uh, not braggin' or anything, just, we kinda got this _bond_ thing. Anyway—he just doesn't like to do it for practice."

I'm not convincing Hayes. I can tell. He doesn't care about the Viridian culture or the connection Mal has with me or the fact that we sleep in the same bed; he just wants proof that Mal, whatever he is, can kick butt with everyone else. I understand that position. I just don't know how I can make _him_ understand that Mal doesn't spar. "See, he's not very violent normally, unless I'm threatened, and then he jumps into action and really does some damage. But only when it's real. Not for practice."

"He doesn't practice these defensive moves you say he uses," Hayes confirms, and I can tell he really wants to say ' _claim_ he uses.'

"Well, no," I agree. "He likes to do some martial arts stuff for fun, and he exercises and all, but he doesn't practice fighting with other people."

"You don't think it would be more beneficial for everyone involved, _sir_ , if he practiced hand-to-hand combat in a nonlethal setting, before attempting to apply it?"

This guy. I got his number now. He says 'sir' like Marcus does sometimes, when what he really wants to say is, 'You idiot.' Maybe the reason they clash so much is that really, they're too much alike.

"I don't know if it'd be more beneficial or not, _Major_ "—two can play the rank game—"but he just won't do it. And I've never seen where it's been a problem."

Hayes nods slowly. I can see he's not done with this yet, though. "Thank you for the explanation, sir," he tells me, a little bit of dismissal in his tone. "I will try to modify my training program accordingly."

To me that sounds kinda sinister, honestly, but what am I supposed to say? "Keep your d—n dirty paws off him"? Not likely. But if Hayes tries anything I can always get Marcus to set him straight. Or the Captain.

 

The next training session rolls around. Mal comes along, stretches with me, then curls up off to the side. I think he picks up a lot of moves just by watching other people do them, actually—he'll probably know the moves Hayes is trying to teach us better than I will.

We're working on blocking punches today. Real exciting. Basically I'm lookin' forward to an evening of Mal icing down my forearms. But in a real situation it would of course be better to have a fairly minor bruise on my arm than, say, a busted nose. I've got Bevins again—he seems like a decent sort, doesn't smirk at me too much, walks me through the routines.

"Right. Left. Left. Right. Good," he says. "Let's pick up the pace a little. Left. Right. Right. Left. Good."

So we're workin' away, and I'm thinking it's all going pretty well. Then all of a sudden I see Bevins kind of glance away, and I glance to where he's glancing, and he's glancing at Hayes. And Hayes gives this kind of little nod—and I get a really bad feeling about what's gonna happen next. Bevins starts to throw another punch. Time kinda slows down a little, like it does sometimes, and it flashes through my brain that he's not throwing where he was supposed to throw. And he's throwing harder than he's supposed to throw. And that this is probably gonna hurt a lot, wherever it lands, even if I manage to block it.

But I don't have to worry about blocking the punch. Because before Bevins's fist can even connect with me, he's flat on his back on the mat, Mal's hand around his. And Bevins keeps struggling, which means Mal starts trying to keep him down.

That was no mistake, that attempted punch. That was deliberate. And even though I realize _why_ Hayes did it, I'm mad as h—l, and I'm tempted to let Mal beat on the MACO a little bit longer. But that would be playing right into Hayes's hands. That would make his d—n underhanded, dangerous stunt worth it. Besides which, someone would probably get pretty well hurt.

So I jump in to break it up, which doesn't take much. Hayes has his troops under this thumb, so Bevins comes to heel when ordered. Mal is less disciplined, but when Bevins stops fighting back and I'm not under threat anymore, Mal settles down. Fortunately the only thing life-threatening about the situation is the glare I'm shooting at Hayes.

The man's bold, I'll give him that. He looks me right in the eye and says, "You might as well let them keep sparring, now that they've started."

"You don't get it!"—you b-----d—"Mal's not sparring!" He only fights for real. For life or death. And only in defense of me. And he won't stop unless I'm there to make him. Hayes doesn't understand what he's toying with at all.

I send Marcus a look, hoping for some support. But it's not forthcoming. In fact I think Marcus looks distinctly pleased that Bevins is a little bruised and battered, and I begin to suspect that maybe _Marcus_ is the reason why Hayes doesn't have any back story on Mal.

I don't say another word. I'm too mad. My temper has gotten the best of me on more than one occasion, but I'm not dumb enough to get into it with a MACO, in a room full of MACOs, when I'm probably gonna say something that'll bring the whole company down on my head. So I just drag Mal out of there, headin' for Sickbay. He'll be fine—but _I'm_ feelin' kinda sick. Sick that someone I considered a friend and colleague is more interested in scoring points in a p-----g contest than in keeping people out of danger. And sick that this newcomer thinks he can butt in and start messin' with stuff he doesn't understand.

Another thought occurs to me: Hayes ordered one of his men to assault me. Sure, they could claim it was an accident, but I know it wasn't. Sounds like a d—n serious offense to me. Maybe it's time I drag my superior officer into this.

 

"Are you f-----g kiddin' me?" The sick feeling is back, but this time I'm staring at the man who's supposed to be my best friend. Lately I don't know where that man's gone. It's not Captain Archer I'm facing, either, at least not the one I've admired and respected for years. This man is darker. Ruthless. Relentless.

He smiles a little, and for a second I see a flash of my old captain, my friend. "It's the only proposal I've ever seen that both Marcus and Hayes agree on," he points out sardonically. "I almost feel like I _have_ to agree to it."

His attempt at humor falls flat with me. My glare does not let up. "There is no need for this, _sir_ ," I tell him, my voice cold—I'm passionate in my plea, but I might be talking to some random officer I've never met before. "We know what Mal's capable of in a real situation. Let Hayes read the reports if he's curious."

"Reading reports is hardly the same as seeing a live demonstration, Trip," Archer reminds me, and his expression is losing that persuasive quality. He's telling me the way things _are_ , the way they're gonna _be_.

But still I push. "Mal doesn't do demonstrations. He doesn't practice and he doesn't spar!" Jon should know this. Jon _does_ know this. He just doesn't care. "You make him do this, someone's gonna get hurt, maybe badly, when it's not necessary."

"It's important for Major Hayes to understand the defensive abilities of everyone on the ship," Archer says, and his voice is becoming icy as well. The coffee on his desk is gonna freeze over soon, the temperature's dropping so fast between the two of us.

"And it's equally important for Marcus to see Mal kick some MACO a-s, apparently."

For a second I think the Captain is gonna chide me for assessing Marcus's motives so crudely. Then I think he realizes I'm actually on target with that one. "Trip, this mission is too important." S—t, now he's playing _that_ card. Took longer than I thought to come out. "Hayes needs to see what Mal can do."

I've got one more point. I don't think it will work; all my others have fallen on deaf ears. "Mal's not some secret weapon you can drop on the enemy when the going gets tough, _sir_! All he can do is defend _me_."

"And when he does, he's pretty potent." Archer's voice is steel. "The demo takes place tomorrow, Commander."

"I refuse." This is my last stand. It will crumble; but I'm not going to let Mal be abused like this without putting up a fight myself.

"I didn't ask for your opinion and I don't need your consent," Archer snaps. I can see I've hit a nerve.

"You try gettin' Mal to do it if I'm telling him _not_ to," I shoot back. If my mama were here she'd tell me to shut up right quick before I get myself into more trouble. But she's _not_ here. "You try even _findin'_ him."

Archer stands abruptly. I don't think I flinched. "You will have him in the gym at 1500 tomorrow," he orders me. "Or by 1505 you will be in the Brig and Hess will be my Chief Engineer until we get back to Earth." After which I will never be anyone's Chief Engineer again.

I don't have anything to say to that. Anything that doesn't outright evoke prison breaks and mutinies. "Permission to leave, sir."

"Granted." Get the h—l out.

I walk stiffly out of the Ready Room onto the Bridge. Everyone pretends not to stare at me. Mal is beyond anxious, pacing and twitching nervously—I don't think he knows exactly what I'm upset about, just that I _am_ upset. T'Pol is at her Science station, not in the Captain's chair; I have a strong suspicion that she was letting Mal spin around in it a few times, at least until his agitation-by-proxy became too great. A guy who thinks spinning around in a chair is the height of entertainment—obviously a highly dangerous individual who deserves intense scrutiny.

He follows me silently into the lift. I head for home. We're nearly there before I speak. "F—k."

He takes a good, long look at me, and I don't try to hide anything. "They want to see me fight someone." The way he says it, I immediately think of ancient gladiatorial games. "What should I do, Trip?"

I let out a sigh that seems to take everything out of me. I feel really rundown all of a sudden—long hours, extra training sessions, low morale… it all seems to be coming down on me at once. Mal wraps his arms around me—so d—n supportive, always.

"Do whatever you want, buddy," I tell him, unhelpful though it is. "Fight back if you want. Give 'em a show. Or just stand there and take a few punches—bet they'll call it off if you don't do anything. It's up to you."

Mal doesn't like things to be up to him. He likes me to _tell_ him what to do—even if he then chooses to do something else. But I've got no clever plan for getting us out of this. Mal can take his lumps with me watchin' from the side of the gym or on a monitor in the Brig, it won't matter. But I'm not gonna be the one who makes the final decision.

 

Archer's determined to do this. Hayes is determined to do this. But maybe—maybe—I can get Marcus to back down. I don't know if that'll do much good. But it would be something.

I go over to the Armory when I've cooled off a little. Marcus is there, of course, plotting new ways to blow things up. He'll just have to take a little break from that.

"What are you doing, puttin' Mal up for a fight with a MACO?" I ask immediately. I was never much good at preambles.

Marcus acts like it's no big deal. "Hayes wants to see him fight."

"And since when do you give a s—t what Hayes wants?"

Marcus gives me a casual look. "The Captain seemed pretty enthused about it as well."

"Well the Captain wouldn't have thought of it without you and Hayes goin' together on your little scheme, would he?" I remind Marcus. Okay, calm down, remember why you're here. "I don't see why a demo is so important. Just let Hayes read the reports about Mal. Let him talk to a few people who've seen him in action. That should be good enough."

Marcus just shakes his head at me. "You don't understand. That would definitely _not_ be good enough."

"Well maybe you could just _explain_ it to me, then."

Marcus gets this look on his face, kinda twisted up, like he's eaten something real sour. "These MACOs." His tone is pure disgust. "They're well-trained, they're disciplined, I'll give them that. They have _potential_. But none of them have ever been outside Earth's solar system! Most of them have never even _met_ an alien, except for the occasional Vulcan doctor. They think they know everything about defense. But you should know as well as I do, Trip, how little of what we were _taught_ we actually _use_ out here."

"Well speak for yourself. So far the laws of physics haven't changed since I was in school." Actually, I _do_ kinda know what he means. But I don't want to encourage him.

"How many times have we faced some situation, some enemy, we could never have imagined back on Earth?" Marcus goes on. "How many times have we underestimated an opponent, just because they didn't _seem_ dangerous at first?"

"You wanna teach MACOs a lesson about not judgin' a book by its cover?" I ask him. "You don't think they mighta picked that up in grade school or something?"

Marcus gets a hard look on his face. He comes around his console to stand right in front of me. "Hayes is an arrogant b-----d. He thinks he knows all about fighting in deep space because he did a few months of security duty at Jupiter Station. I want to show him that he doesn't know s—t about what's out here."

Well, can't say Marcus isn't direct. "You wanna play your little games with Hayes, fine," I tell him. "Knock him down a few pegs. I don't care. But _don't do it with Mal_. Someone's gonna get hurt. Maybe a MACO. Don't guess you'd care too much about that. But maybe it'll be Mal. And if _that_ happens, I'm gonna have a few things to say to you." And right at that moment, I don't care that I'm staring down the most dangerous man on the ship (Mal aside). "All I'm seein' right now is an Armory Officer who's feeling so d—n insecure he's willing to be _reckless_ with the safety of the crew, just to prove he's got half an inch on some new guy!"

Marcus's eyes go cold. His posture kinda stiffens up. Great. Way to go, Tucker. Exactly what you came in here for. Not. "Your comments are _noted_ , sir," he tells me in the same kinda voice I was using with Archer earlier. "Was there anything else, _sir_?"

"Why bother?" I tell him. "Everyone's already made up their minds anyway." And out I go.

 

"I'm not going to fight back."

After hours of consideration, I'm not surprised that's what Mal's come up with. I'm not sure there was much of a choice to be made, in the end; with me perfectly safe, out of harm's way, Mal's defensive instincts are virtually nil. He surely couldn't do much more than bob and weave until his opponent got bored and gave up. But still, it's a big decision for him to put into words.

"Okay, buddy," I reply, wrapping my arm around his shoulder for a hug. "I promise I'll make them stop as soon as I can." What a thing to promise—you're gonna get beat, but I'll try not to let them beat you _too_ much. "You ready?"

Mal nods and we walk into the gym. It's a big crowd: Archer, looking the tiniest bit relieved that I actually showed up; Hayes and about half his MACOs; Marcus and an equal number of his security people. The tension between the two groups is runnin' so high, I feel like we're in a rumble scene from _West Side Story_. Only in this version Maria is a ninja assassin. A _pacifist_ ninja assassin.

Come to think of it, I think I _have_ seen that version before, in Marcus's obscure kung-fu movie collection.

Okay, I'm ramblin', sorry. That's what happens when I have nothing to do but wait. I hate waiting.

Phlox is here, too. He doesn't look too pleased. Good. Where's T'Pol? Probably doin' the _real_ captain stuff on the Bridge. I can't believe she'd find this a 'logical' way to deal with Mal.

I'm ignoring the Captain. That's probably actionable and definitely rude, but I'm d—n angry at him. I haven't been this angry at him since that whole alien virus host thing, which come to think of it _also_ involved him hurting Mal. Some people just don't learn. And by 'some people,' I mean _me_.

But I'm not gonna let the Captain get away with any of his little 'looks' today. He wants to give an order, he can just do it out loud.

So he does. "Mal. Come over here, please."

I squeeze Mal's hand and send him off. He looks so small compared to everyone else in the room—hunched over and too thin, trying to keep as much of himself inside as possible. When this spectacle is over I'm going to make him eat more. I gotta keep up with that better—you wouldn't think Mal would have trouble getting enough to eat, but he won't eat when he's nervous or upset or just plain down. Which means he won't eat when _I'm_ nervous or upset or just plain down. And I've been that way a lot on this particular mission.

Archer and Hayes are talking to Mal now. I can't quite hear, but I'm guessing it's something about the importance of the mission and how they hope Mal understands what they want. _I_ don't understand. I hope Mal doesn't either. Sure enough, he kinda cocks his head to the side quizzically and blinks up at Archer, and the Captain squirms a bit. Good. You're not gonna get any of _us_ to validate your decision.

Now one of the MACOs is coming up. Not Bevins—Perez, I think his name is. It's funny, he's a lot smaller than the other troops, a similar build to Mal, in fact. Hayes must have done that on purpose. I don't know if that's savvy strategy or overconfidence. I know which Marcus would say.

Perez smiles and shakes Mal's hand, and for some reason I like him—I bet he took a lot of s—t for being a smaller guy and worked four times as hard as any of those other linebackers. I bet he's really the most dangerous of the bunch.

They both climb onto the mat. Hayes doesn't drag the tension out too long—he just gives Perez the nod and the man drops into a fighting stance. Mal just stands there, looking at him. Perez starts to circle. Mal twists a little bit to follow him but doesn't take any other action.

The first strike comes. It's not _too_ bad—Perez jabs Mal's shoulder, then jumps back. Mal turns away, rubbing the injury. "Ow," he says, and I know the look he's giving Perez. The MACO might have just kicked a puppy.

Perez is disciplined, though. He lands a couple more body blows, nothing real serious, and Mal just does nothing, except look hurt. He doesn't even try to run or dodge, he just takes it. He thinks that will get it over with faster, like maybe Hayes is going for five unreturned blows or something. It's as good a guess as any.

Suddenly a scene flashes in my mind, from what seems like ages ago. Mal on that outpost. Slavin' away, crawlin' in the dirt, takin' his knocks from the Klingons without daring to raise his fist back. Although even then he would get that look of defiance in his eyes—and then they would just beat him down harder.

Perez backs away from his stance and looks to Hayes. I like him even more now. He's tough, he follows orders, but where's it written that he's gotta beat up on some little guy who won't even fight back? What's the point of all this? Mal's not even standing up anymore, he's kind of sitting on the mat with his arms wrapped around his knees. I feel people look at me, Archer and Hayes, and I cross my arms over my chest and look away. I was told to bring him here. I wouldn't make him fight even if I could.

Perez gets another signal and goes back for more. He's gotta be meaner now. He grabs Mal's arm, yanks him back up. Mal does his Silly Putty routine, goes limp in the man's grasp, slithers away. They could do this all day.

Finally Perez hauls off and really punches him, right in the face. I'm too busy making my own gasp to notice those from the crowd. Mal's knocked flat, rolls over, hands over his eye. I think he's crying.

I'm about to be sick. I'm not embarrassed by Mal, no, not at all. I know what he can do under the right conditions, and I'm not so insecure—unlike _some_ people—that I need everyone else to see it. I would love him even if he _couldn't_ protect me. And right now, it's up to _me_ to protect _him_.

I run out onto the mat, kneel by his side. He starts to curl up into me. "That's enough," I tell Archer, looking him right in his cold green eyes.

I swear I didn't see it coming. In hindsight it was obvious, but I guess I was too preoccupied worryin' about Mal to think of it. But of course Archer has a Plan B, involving another MACO appearing from the side to take a swing at _me_. Put _me_ in a little danger to goose Mal. And of course Mal jumps him before he can lay a hand on me. Then Perez gets into it—whether to attack or just rescue his buddy, I don't know—and it's all downhill from there.

 

"Sorry about the eye, Doc," I tell Phlox apologetically.

"Nonsense," the doctor assures me cheerfully, scanning his darkening eye and squinting at the results. "It was really quite invigorating. I've never been involved in a _brawl_ before!"

Sickbay is pretty crowded all of a sudden. There aren't even enough biobeds for all the patients, so I'm sittin' in a chair. Mal would really merit a bed, but he wants to sit with _me_ , sort of kneeling between my legs half-sprawled over my lap. I remember him sitting with Jon that way, a pose both casual and intimate in its affection. That seems like a long time ago.

Thank G-d, there are no _serious_ injuries. Perez and the MACO who jumped me—never did catch his name—are stretched out on beds, with Phlox's assistants hovering over them. The doctor's doing triage on the rest of us, so I'm guessing the two guys don't need immediate surgery or anything like that. Still, I'll bet they'll be enjoying the doctor's hospitality for a couple of days.

About half a dozen other people have minor enough cuts and bruises that Phlox banishes them with some smelly ointment right away. That leaves Archer, Hayes, and Marcus sitting around on beds, looking slightly put out at the idea of being nursed.

Sometimes I really despise all that macho bulls—t.

As for me I've got a loose tooth, bruises and scrapes aplenty, and a rib that hurts like h‑‑l. But I'm feelin' d—n good, and not because Phlox shot me up with any of his magic potions. I'm feelin' _smug_ , and that's a fact. I don't like seein' Mal get hurt. But if he's gotta get hurt, at least it was on his own terms, with him kickin' butt right back. To protect me. In fact, you could say that this time, we were actually fightin' side by side.

So Hayes got his demo, Marcus got his MACO rout, and Archer? Well, maybe it's just the way his lip is swelling up, but he looks thoroughly unhappy with the result. Good.

Mal wriggles in my lap. "You're injured," he points out worriedly.

"I know," I tell him, rubbing his arms. "Doc'll get to me pretty soon. You did a good job out there, darlin'." I don't pitch my voice just for Mal. What do I care if everyone in the room can hear me.

The affection in his smile is enough to make the cracked rib worth it. "Are _you_ okay?" I go on. "You took a few good knocks."

He puts his head back down on my thigh and I pet his hair. "I'll heal," he sighs contentedly.

The door to Sickbay hisses open and Hoshi strides into view. I see Archer wince in a way that has nothing to do with his injuries. By the next shift the debacle will be all over the ship.

She heads straight for Mal. "Oh my G-d!" she clucks compassionately. "Look at that eye! You poor thing!"

"It doesn't hurt _too_ much," Mal tells her, wringing sympathy from every syllable. I can't help but smirk a little.

"Can you eat anything?" Hoshi goes on. "Here, I brought you a little treat."

She produces a small bowl of chocolate pudding and a spoon. Mal's eyes are alight. "Oh, _thank_ you, Hoshi!"

"Ensign," Archer says suddenly, and I hope she doesn't get into any kind of trouble for this. "Everything alright on the Bridge?"

"Yes, sir," Hoshi reports. "I'll just be getting back there, sir," she adds, before he can.

Mal is thoroughly enjoying his pudding. I've given up trying to tell him when a certain way of eating looks obscene—it would just make him self-conscious, and it would take too d—n long anyway. So now he's sort of lounging between my legs, licking pudding off the back of a spoon, and I don't give a d—n what Hayes or anyone else thinks about it.

"Would you like some pudding?" Mal offers, and I not only accept—I let him feed it to me, all the while giving the evil eye to the people I hold most responsible for this mess. Feeling magnanimous, I decide to forgive Hayes; he was only doing his job, and he knew nothing about Mal. Jon and Marcus, on the other hand, have a lot to answer for.

The doors open again. This time it's Travis. He goes straight to Mal. "Hey there, pal," he says affably. "Guess someone beat me in the treat department!" He holds out a banana.

"Ooh, thanks, Travis!" Mal takes the piece of fruit excitedly.

"We'll just save this one for later," I tell Travis, knowing what a mess Mal can make with bananas.

"Travis." Archer's at it again. I don't know if he'll be angrier about Mal's behavior during the fight, or the fact that the crew can't stop treating him like a beloved pet. A _wronged_ beloved pet. "Are you on duty?"

"No, sir," Travis replies. "Uh, is there something I can do for you?"

"No, nothing." Dismissed, Ensign.

"Well, you'll be pleased to know everyone should make a full recovery, Captain," Phlox announces.

"I am," Archer agrees.

"Those were some nice moves you pulled," Hayes remarks to Mal casually. He's been sitting on his biobed thinking this whole time. Analyzing, I suppose. "What martial arts have you studied?"

Mal looks up at me questioningly. "Oh, he's always goin' to different classes," I tell Hayes. " _Tai chi_ , _taekwondo_ , _aikido_ …"

"Mandy's teaching me the _foxtrot_ ," Mal offers.

"He dances, too," I clarify to Hayes.

The Major nods. "I thought so. How are your targeting skills?"

"They s—k," I reply for Mal cheerfully.

"I don't like shooting things," Mal adds.

"Pretty good about catchin' the target with his bare hands, though," I tease.

Someone else comes into Sickbay. Is this an actual patient, or just another well-wisher? Oh, it's T'Pol—so neither, then?

At least she knows to speak to Archer first. "Was your demonstration successful, Captain?" she asks coolly, and d—n if I'm not beginning to feel a tad bit sorry for Jon after all this. He's clearly not gettin' any support around here.

"Yes, I believe it was," he tells her, struggling to sound convincing. "Major Hayes was able to get a good idea of Mal's abilities. Weren't you, Major?"

"Absolutely, sir," Hayes assures him crisply. "You'll have my report tomorrow."

T'Pol looks around Sickbay. "It is fortunate that so few crewmembers were injured in the course of this demonstration," she remarks.

"I agree," Archer replies stiffly, ignoring the rebuke in her tone.

Suddenly I notice what T'Pol's been holdin' behind her back this whole time and I point it out to Mal. "Ooh, is that for me?" he asks eagerly, and T'Pol turns to look at him.

"It is." She hands him the shiny red apple. "I noted that it is approximately time for your pre-dinner snack, and presumed that Commander Tucker would be unavailable to obtain sustenance for you." Yeah, right, the old softy. She glances at the banana and the empty cup of pudding. "I gather other crewmembers have reached similar conclusions."

"I thought they just brought me food because they liked me," Mal replies, giving her a dazzling smile. She raises an eyebrow as if saying, _I will neither confirm nor deny that._ "Thank you so much, Commander."

She glances over both of us. "I trust your injuries will not cause you too much inconvenience?"

"We'll heal," I tell her pleasantly, repeating Mal's earlier words.

"I would expect so." With that she turns to leave, giving Archer a brief nod of acknowledgement.

He can't stand it. He really can't stand it. "Hang on a minute, T'Pol," he says, hitching himself off the biobed with a wince. "I'll walk to the Bridge with you."

"That will not be necessary, Captain. Your presence is not needed on the Bridge." SHUTDOWN! Jon stops in his tracks. T'Pol says it the way only _she_ can, so it sounds reasonable and respectful instead of like a big _f—k you_. "You should stay in Sickbay and tend to your injuries." And then she leaves.

Again, I almost feel sorry for Jon. I know he's just tryin' to protect us out here, complete the most important mission we've ever had. He didn't sign on for this. He signed on to chart nebulas and make First Contact with new species, not hunt and investigate and scheme and scrimp. But d----t, he's gotta be told when he's gone too far, gotten too focused on one thing to see when he's hurting everything else. Well, here's hopin' today was a giant smack back to reality.

I should go and see him tonight. Talk about stuff. Maybe have a beer. Like we used to. That would be good. Especially when I see him lookin' so lost, standin' in the middle of his own Sickbay.

Even Phlox pushes him out of the way. "Excuse me, Captain." The black biobed slides out of the hole in the wall. "Mal, I need to examine you in the imaging chamber, please."

Mal stands up, a bit shaky, and I stand with him. Resolutely he hands me the banana and the apple, for safe-keeping. Then he looks hesitantly at the bed.

"Come on now," Phlox coaxes. "It will only take a moment, and won't hurt at all." I follow Mal over to the bed and help him lie down on it. I think he would like Phlox better if he didn't always associate him with being sick or injured. Kinda hard to avoid when you're the ship's doctor, I guess.

Phlox puts the cherry on the whipped cream for me. "If you're quiet and lie very still, perhaps I will give you a sucker afterwards," he promises Mal.

"I'll be in my quarters," Archer says abruptly, walking out. I guess somehow the idea of a super-duper secret weapon being persuaded by a sucker doesn't sit well with him.

I let him go. He needs a little time to brood. Not too much. Too much is bad. Just a little. Then I'll go see him. And we'll get this worked out.


End file.
